Three Days
by josie hardy
Summary: Set between episodes 2 and 3 of the new Sherlock series on the BBC.  Crossover between Sherlock and Boy Meets Girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Going to hope that this section is either for, or at least includes, the new BBC Sherlock :p This is actually a crossover with _Boy Meets Girl _- it isn't posted as that because I couldn't see a BMG category. It's probably more Sherlock anyway, it was just seeing Martin Freeman in both that made me think of it :D**

**I apologize if the characterizations are a little off, Sherlock isn't easy... I've tried to keep it as accurate as I could.**

**WARNING: may slightly spoil episode 3 if you haven't seen it.**

* * *

It had taken months, and endless patience to wait for just the right weather conditions – amazing that it had taken so long for there to be a bad storm when they were in the middle of London, really – but finally, the time had arrived.

* * *

"Watson."

"_Hi John… uh, I was wondering, if you weren't busy, if you could come take a look at this victim. You know, being a doctor… I thought you might be able to help."_

The doctor glanced out the window, unable to resist shaking his head at the outline of his flatmate staring out the window, having already announced his fascination with the randomness of lightning. Inexplicable, he had called it.

"Sure, I'll come," he promised, trying to mask his sigh. The biggest storm in recent history was not a time he particularly wanted to leave the house, regardless of the strangeness inside.

"Who was that?" Sherlock asked when he hung up a few moments later. "It wasn't Sarah, you wouldn't have sounded so reluctant to go to her."

"Uh… it was Molly," John answered. "Asking me to go to a scene and take a look at the body. Coming?"

"In this weather?" the detective scoffed. "He was probably electrocuted due to some foolishness of his own doing, I doubt it was murder."

_And anything short of an impossible murder isn't worthy of your attention. _John didn't need to listen to the rest of his friend's speech as he reached for his coat and umbrella.

"Fine," he said aloud. "I'll see you later."

* * *

On the cab ride to the power station, however, he couldn't help but think about what Sherlock had said. If it was murder, why take the victim to such an out of the way location? What were the chances that it was a murder, given the location and the terrible weather?

He knew for a fact that there were a multitude of structural pieces that could have been the cause of an unfortunate electrocution, if one stood in the right place. Which, while it would be an easy way to kill someone, would not be interesting enough for a certain bored detective.

"Thanks," he pulled his coat tighter around himself, ducking his head against the torrential rain as he climbed out of the cab and fumbled for the fare.

He stood still for a moment, eyeing the large darkened building and its oppressive barb wire fence surrounding. Maybe he had been around Sherlock too long, but the fact that everything was in darkness disturbed him; if this person wasn't merely a murder victim but an employee, surely he would have been in the building, or someone else would still have been there if he was on his way out? Unless electricity hit and took out all the power, but a power station would have a generator, wouldn't it?

"John, you made it," Molly's voice shook him out of his thoughts and he turned to the petite woman standing beside him.

"Molly," he began slowly, "if this is a crime scene, where is everyone? You don't usually come alone."

"Oh, I'm just the first here," the slightly higher pitch of her voice gave away her lie. "Come on, he's over here."

He didn't miss the way she glanced at her watch, and seemed in a hurry to make it to their destination, a dark shape on what seemed to be a metal grid.

He only had a moment to wonder why the victim would have been standing in that particular spot when Molly grabbed his hand and the next thing he knew was an incredible pain before nothing but darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Realizing how short my chapters are helped make my decision about how often to post. Ooops.**

**Just to repeat my warning: May spoil episode 3**

* * *

Sherlock glanced at the door when it opened a couple of hours later, quickly returning to the window. The storm was finally starting to die down, and there were only intermittent bolts of lightning to amuse him.

"So?" he prodded upon silence from his flatmate. "Was it an accident?"

"What? Uh… yeah. Wrong place wrong time kind of thing." His friend seemed to be making a concentrated effort not to look at him.

"Told you."

"So… tea?"

"Sure."

John headed towards the kitchen, pressing the button on the kettle to set it to boil. He took the waiting time to look around the apartment, taking in the messiness – Sherlock's mess – and the unusual artefacts that littered the place, the out of place violin and the board of post its... the skull...

He opened the refrigerator for the milk and stifled a gasp as he jumped back, startled by the head staring back at him.

"It's been in there for a week and it still scares you?" Sherlock was suddenly by his side, staring at him with those dark eyes.

"A human head isn't something you'd come across in most places," John retorted, grabbing the opened milk carton and turning back to the tea.

"Is everything alright, John?"

"Yes, of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

* * *

Everything most certainly was not alright with John Watson. He had woken up to find himself laying on the ground in the rain, no sign of whatever the bundle had been, nor any indication as to where Molly had disappeared to.

"Sherlock's known her too long," was his confirmation to himself that he was in some way being paranoid or living a crazy dream, rather than believe Molly Hooper could have done anything. And done what? All that had happened was something that made him black out for what couldn't have been more than a couple of hours, as it was still dark.

He heard the sound of a mobile ringing, and wondered why it wasn't in his pocket. He was still wearing his coat, where else would it be?

The ringing persisted, and as he looked around he caught sight of the telltale light of a screen beside him. In… a handbag?

"What the-" he muttered as he picked up the unfamiliar phone. _Molly must have left it,_ he realized. It was the most plausible explanation, though it didn't explain where she herself was or why she'd disappeared in such a hurry.

Unless she hadn't disappeared. Had he blacked out because someone had hit him, in order to kidnap Molly? But why would she concoct such a crazy story to get him to come out there rather than get them both to her house if she needed help?

He picked up the handbag, silencing the phone as he zipped it up, and looked around to get his bearings and make his way to the gate.

"At least I don't have to figure out an address," he thought as he tried to recall the taxi company's number. He reached into his pocket to discover that all his pockets were empty of phone, wallet and keys. Had this been a mugging? But what did Molly have to do with anything? Had she also been tricked into coming by some false call of a victim who didn't exist?

Too late he realized why the cab driver had given him such an odd look when he had given his destination. Not because he wanted to go to a power plant in the middle of the night in some of the worst weather he'd ever seen, but because this power plant wasn't the one currently in operation; this was an older plant that had been closed down due to structural issues… several electrocutions, he remembered.

_So someone calls Molly pretending someone is here and hurt, or dead, _he reasoned, reaching into the handbag for the phone he had seen before, _she comes and calls me when she realizes no one's here. Then the caller shows up, and since they only wanted her in the first place, they knock me out and leave me while they take her… but who would want to hurt Molly?_

He frowned as he finished his phone call and took the phone down from his ear, flipping it over to look at the back as best he could by the subdued flashes of lightning. The engraved inscription on the back caused a slight friction between phone and hand whenever he used it, something he had become accustomed to rather than try to find the money to get a new phone. That sensation hadn't happened this time.

_Must be the rain, _he decided.

Presently the taxi pulled up, making a U-turn before it stopped beside him.

"Well hello," the driver leered, "what are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"Long story," John answered, climbing inside.

He noticed several things at once. The inside of the car muted the sound of the rain and had helped him hear his voice; the light inside the car showed him himself for the first time; and something brushed against his face that wasn't a scarf.

He pulled his foot out of the car, grabbing the wing mirror to adjust it so he could look at himself. But rather than John Watson looking back at him, it was Molly Hooper.

He screamed.

* * *

**A/N: My bad if screaming isn't really in character, it just seemed appropriate :p**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you, kind reviewer! :D**

**Okay, I've been saying it for every chapter... but this is *actually* the one that might start having spoilers :p**

* * *

"I suppose we should be heading to bed," Sherlock sounded as unenthralled by that idea as if he had just been asked to take on a case where the murderer had not only left easily avoidable traces of himself, but was still in the building. "Storm's finishing now."

He rose, stretching his arms up over his head and making his lanky figure seem even taller.

"John, why do you keep staring at me? Is there something wrong with my face?" he frowned, catching sight of his companion eyeing him from the chair he had claimed.

"No, nothing. Was just thinking… about that poor guy Molly called me about."

"Hmmm." The detective didn't seem to be listening, more interested in perusing the board of notes. "You know the strangest thing about that?" he asked suddenly, turning on his heel to face his friend. "He was at the old power plant rather than the new place. Why would anyone be there, especially on a night like tonight?"

"I-"

"I'm thinking, maybe it wasn't a suicide or an accident," he was pacing now, and becoming excitable as ideas came to him, "maybe it was a murder. Out of the way place like that, under cover of darkness, the rain would wash away any trace… what was the cause of death?"

The hesitation born from the abruptness of the question at the end of the stream of chatter made him frown again.

"Electrocuted," came the quick answer before he could ask any more questions about strange behaviour. "Standing on a metal grid, probably drunk or something."

"The nearest pub isn't for miles," Sherlock said after a moment's consideration. "That's quite the drunken hike. You know, maybe there is something to this after all – we're going to the morgue first thing. Night."

Watson wasn't given a chance to respond as his friend vanished to his room. Or rather, Molly wasn't.

She sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. Sherlock believed her to be Watson – difficult not to, even for him – and she had just spent more time with him than she ever had, with all the failed suggestions of coffee or other out of work rendezvous. Severed head aside, it had been exactly what she wanted – actually, the head hadn't been that much of a surprise, really.

Only now everything would be ruined by there being no body. She should have realized he would figure out that the plant was out of use. And where would he think she was if she wasn't at work tomorrow? Would he care?

"Must remember to buy milk, too." Sherlock showing up at the door made her jump.

"Right," she responded in what she hoped was a steady voice.

* * *

He asked the cab driver to take him to the hospital, not being sure where else to go. He assumed the keyring he had found in the handbag had keys to both Molly's house and workplace, but had no idea where her house was, even if he had felt comfortable going there. He didn't know what he expected to find at the hospital, but as long as he wasn't asked to do anything morgue-specific he would be okay; that was one benefit to being a doctor in this situation.

"Thanks," the female voice freaked him out a little less this time, as he hunted through the handbag for the fare and climbed out. Thank goodness Molly's job meant she couldn't have too-long nails, or he was sure he would have harmed himself by now.

He managed to make it through the corridors without interception, thankful to find the morgue doors unlocked so he didn't need to try all the different keys to get in. He flicked on the lights against his better judgement, relieved to be in a place of light even if it was inhabited by dead bodies.

Leaving the handbag on a vacant table, he looked around for the nearest bathroom. He needed another look – and a hard pinch to ensure that this wasn't some crazy dream. Although a dream might have made more sense, he considered as he flicked on more fluorescent lights and stood back from the mirror in order to see as much of himself as possible.

Or herself. His eyes hadn't been deceiving him, he really was Molly. A Molly who thankfully hadn't gone out in such terrible weather in a skirt or heels, or else he would have felt even more ridiculous. He reached up to release what damp hair remained in the hair tie, the damp strands further confirmation of the reality.

"Okay," he pulled the hair back, tying it loosely at the nape of the neck as he leaned over a washbasin to clean off the dirt from having fallen at the plant. "This isn't a dream. You're Molly… which means Molly is you? Is she back at the flat? Did she somehow plan this? But why?"

At least he had control over the face. The female features staring back at him looked just as confused as he felt.

* * *

In comparison to the messiness of the flat, the tidiness of Watson's room proved that the mess belonged to Sherlock. She had never taken Watson to be anything other than a simple man with simple needs and a simple lifestyle, and it seemed she had been right; or at least, not many of his belongings had survived his tour of Afghanistan.

The newest item was a framed photograph on the nightstand, which she smiled at as she picked it up, a natural response to the smiles of the people depicted. John and Sarah, on what was presumably an early date, judging by the new-couple distance between them. Sarah was a nice girl, and had found a nice man… but no one was like her Sherlock.

Her brain caught up with her thoughts a moment later. She was still thinking about Sherlock. She had been hatching this plan to get closer to him since before Watson had come onto the scene – his appearance had given her the help she needed – and since then she had met her new boyfriend, Jim. Maybe she didn't think as much of Jim as she thought she did if she was still calling Sherlock "my Sherlock."

* * *

"Wasn't expecting you to still be here," the friendly morgue attendant smiled as he and his partner wheeled the body in.

Watson had had to come out of the bathroom when he heard people approaching, even if it was only to see if he could pull off this new body until he could get a hold of the real Molly.

"I was just about to leave," he lied, automatically reaching for the zip of the body bag while hoping that they weren't going to stick around long enough to see that he didn't really know what to do. "What happened?"

"Accident," the attendant shrugged. "Seems to have been electrocuted."

_How's that for a coincidence? _Watson thought to himself, while simultaneously wondering if it could have been the bundle he had seen at the plant – except that had disappeared by the time he had come around.

"Where was he?"

"Outside a pub, can't you smell the alcohol? Probably just managed to touch a street lamp at the wrong time. Poor fool." He shook his head, his features a combination of pity and sadness. "Terrible way to go, but it happens. I wouldn't worry about processing him tonight, this isn't anything more than an accident. Go home, get some sleep."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Watson murmured, raising his hand in a half wave as the duo departed. While it could have been planned with a well-timed push, he didn't think Molly was capable of actually killing anyone, and didn't see how this death could benefit her anyway.

He reluctantly headed over to the handbag, hunting for the purse that he hoped would contain a driving licence.

"Perfect," he grinned on finding not only a driving licence, but another ring holding what could only be car keys. He remembered he and Sherlock catching her once when she had just arrived at work, not even giving her the time to get out of her car before Sherlock asked her The Incredibly Important Thing he Needed to Know. He had misplaced his riding crop.

~sh~

Luckily the early hours were the best time of day to be driving the streets of London, and he made the journey in a matter of minutes, only made longer by his deliberation over whether to go to Molly's or pay a visit to 221b Baker Street. He decided against a confrontation, partly because of the sheer ridiculousness in turning up and trying to explain his predicament at such an hour and the fact that there was no guarantee he would find Molly there.

"It's about time, I've been ever so patient." The voice that greeted him in the darkness made him jump, the squeak that escaped him sounding even more pathetic in gentle female tones.

He spun around to face the short dark haired man sitting in an armchair by the lit fire. Molly had a boyfriend? Right, she had mentioned him… Bill… Tim…

"Alright then, I'll come to you," he announced in his accented voice, rising and approaching with a smile. "Really, anyone would think you weren't happy to see your favourite Jimmy Baby."

_I have a girlfriend and I still find that nickname sickening, _Watson thought as he swallowed a wave of nausea. At least he had the name now; Jim.

"Of course I am, I just wasn't expecting to see you tonight," he responded carefully.

"I know, work ran late. You'd be surprised how many computers can't handle a little storm like this," he chuckled. "But when you didn't answer my call, I got worried about you."

It took a lot of control not to pull away as he reached round to pull out the hair tie, and then helped remove the jacket he was still wearing.

"You must be cold," Jim remarked, hanging up the coat on a hook by the door, "You need tea!"

* * *

**A/N: okay, Jim's probably going to be the second hardest character to do justice :p I hope the changing POVs aren't too hard to follow :/**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Don't know how necessary the spoiler warning is, but I'm gonna keep making it anyway: may spoil episode 3. I've seen it, so I can't really say for sure... better safe than sorry :p**

**Thanks again to Eleanor B-F! I hope the longer chapters are better, they were all supposed to be around the length of chapter 1 :D**

* * *

Neither Molly or Watson got much sleep that night, for different reasons. Molly found herself lonely in the cold, empty room and bed without her boyfriend, while Watson was too afraid to sleep in fear of what Jim might be expecting.

One thing they did have in common was early wake up calls; one in the form of a clock and the other, more human.

~sh~

Molly sat bolt upright in bed, wildly looking around to acclimatise herself to her new surroundings while trying to work out what had disturbed her.

Sherlock. Of course.

Pulling a bathrobe around herself, she slowly opened the door of the bedroom, not entirely sure what she expected to see on the other side.

"We're going to need a new microwave," Sherlock announced casually, staring at the smoking device more in amusement than alarm or annoyance.

"Experiment gone bad?" As disgusting as she found the idea, she didn't need to live with him to easily guess what might have caused the spontaneous combustion.

"Hmmm. Get ready, we're going to the morgue," he told her, plopping himself in his favourite chair before she had even registered that he was already dressed.

"Right… the morgue." She ducked back into the bedroom, the urge to bite her nails dispelled by the simple fact that these weren't her nails. That was one way to stop nervous nail biting.

One phonecall was enough to offer a simple solution to her problem. She hadn't ever been so glad to hear that someone had died.

* * *

It took a moment for Watson to register that the noise invading his sleep was the alarm clock beside the bed, and he quickly grabbed it in the hope that he would discover how to turn it off before it woke up… a Jim that was no longer there.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he found the off button, both for the success of ridding the room of the terrible noise – who would choose such a racket to be the first thing they heard in the morning? – and for the absence of…

"Jimmy," the word inadvertently came out as a groan as the impish man walked in.

"Just wanted to make sure you were awake and not hitting the snooze button," he explained cheerfully. "I'd best be off, wouldn't want to be late."

"No, wouldn't want that," Watson murmured, half heartedly returning the wave preceding the slamming of the door.

He clambered out of the bed, yanking off the nightshirt he had managed to put on over the clothes he had been wearing without Jim noticing. Just because he was temporarily of the wrong gender didn't mean he was going to jump right in at the deep end with regards to the wildly differing clothing arrangements.

The phone was in his hand before he realized he didn't what to do with it. He knew Sherlock would mock him for it, but he had no idea what his friend's mobile number was; he had it stored in his phone exactly so he didn't need to remember it. And for all their time working together, Molly didn't seem to have it – and he wasn't at all surprised to see no "John" or "Watson" in her contacts list.

That meant he would have to leave the house. Phonebooks didn't record mobile numbers, and he doubted Sherlock Holmes would be listed if they did; he wouldn't want his number that readily available for all the mundane everyday cases people might decide to plague him with.

"I suppose that means a shower," he muttered flatly. Were there rules for this kind of situation? Etiquette that stated that it was as wrong for him to shower or risk seeing this body naked as he felt it was?

Grabbing a few of the surplus towels, he moved around the bathroom and bedroom covering all the mirrors; if he was going to do this, he could at least avoid looking too closely. He'd never be able to look Molly in the eye again if he did.

"Shower, brush teeth… dress," he recited, heading for the closet. Molly would not be wearing a skirt today. Nor would she be wearing heels. Jewellery was not going to be considered. Lipstick was only applied when she was trying to get Sherlock's attention… which would be nice in the current situation, but that method's lack of success left something to be desired.

* * *

Morning activities like getting dressed weren't something she had remembered to consider. Was it… okay for her to touch the body this way? To look at herself naked?

"Just don't look in any mirrors and have clothes ready so you're done as quickly as possible," she told herself, trying to get used to the gruffness of the male voice she now had. What was the simplest outfit she could wear that wouldn't seem odd? Pants, boots, shirt under a knitted jumper… sounded more comfortable than what went into being a woman.

"Finally," Sherlock greeted when she came out a few minutes later, heading straight for the hooks on the back of the door and pulling down his coat and scarf. "Let's go."

* * *

Watson frowned at himself in the mirror, rolling his shoulders back and forth in discomfort. Sure, he looked the part, but was this really what all women had to go through every day with the wearing of a bra? He had never experienced anything so uncomfortable, and he had had to wear bulletproof vests while in Afghanistan. He made a mental note to never make fun of Harriet again.

He hadn't quite decided where he was going even as he headed towards the door, awkwardly alternating between carrying the handbag on his left and right shoulder. Neither felt right, and he couldn't remember where Molly usually had it; but being right handed, he opted for the left in order to be able to reach into it… even though everything automatically went into a pocket anyway.

It was inspiration that made him hunt through the bag once he was in the car. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he had decided it couldn't hurt to see what was in there; and besides, it was part of male nature to wonder what women carried around all the time.

Purse, of course. Driving licence. Lipstick and other assorted make up. Hair products. More keys. Phone. A pen. An envelope... with his name on it.

_Hi John,_

_You're probably wondering what happened last night. It's kind of a long story…_

* * *

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Sherlock finally turned away from the window when the mobile continued to ring.

"What? Oh," Molly snapped out of her thoughts, hoping she wasn't really blushing as she reached into her coat pocket. Distracted by wondering if she looked okay and the mere presence of the man beside her, she hadn't registered that the unfamiliar ringtone was for her.

"Don't look too excited," the detective smirked. Her panic at seeing the name Sarah on the caller ID must have been a little too apparent.

"_Hey honey," _Sarah's sweet tones greeted. _"I got worried about you last night, you never called back but it seemed a little late to call again. Sherlock said you were out, where on earth would you be alone at that time of night?"_

"With Molly" probably wasn't the answer his girlfriend would want to hear. And she wouldn't buy the story of it being some random murder and him going without his partner.

"An old friend called," she lied. "We just went out for a few drinks. Sherlock never told me, or I'd have called you back." She couldn't resist glancing over at her companion, who didn't look at all shamefaced at his forgetfulness although she knew he was listening. He was always listening.

"_Oh, okay. That sounds fun. Do you want to come over tonight?"_

She didn't. She didn't want to spend the night with Watson's girlfriend, who would expect her to act like Watson, and she didn't want to spend a night with Sarah when she could be with Sherlock. But a part of being Watson included his girlfriend… they were friends, after all.

"Yes, of course. About seven?"

"_That sounds great. I'll see you then."_

"Why so much hesitation?" Sherlock had definitely been listening, and was now fixing her with one of those looks. The kind he had given her when they had first met, that meant he was analysing her or something she had said. "Things not going well between you two?"

She marvelled at the callous way he managed to ask the question, as though he was asking if she'd remembered to close the door rather than the status of a romantic involvement.

"Everything's fine," she lied. "She was just worried after I never called her back."

"Sorry about that," Sherlock offered in a tone that suggested anything but, cheerfully reaching for the door handle as the taxi drew to a halt.

* * *

So that was what the attendant had meant when he said he hadn't been expecting Molly to still be at the morgue, Watson realized as he sat back from reading the note. He had thought she had already gone home on her sick leave that was supposed to last three days.

It meant he didn't have to worry about going to work or leaving the house, he decided as he climbed out of the car. But it didn't help him decide whether she was slightly insane or a genius. Telling work she'd be off sick for three days so she could switch places with Sherlock's partner in order to be closer to him? He was leaning towards insane.

As he approached the house, he saw someone messing about with the lock.

"Jim?"

"Molly!" the look of shock was quickly replaced with a smile. "You're usually at work by now."

"I'm… taking a day off. What are you doing here? I didn't give you a key," he added, spotting the wire in the man's hand.

"I know, I'm sorry, I know how this must look. I just forgot something when I left this morning and I really need to get in and get it. This is how they do it in the movies," he grinned, holding up the wire apologetically.

"Oh. Okay," Watson responded warily, crossing the remaining space and fishing the keys out of his pocket.

"Shame you're taking a day off, I was kind of planning on surprising you at work today," he sighed. "Guess the cat's out of the bag now."

"It was a nice thought."

"When are you going back? Tomorrow?"

"I haven't decided yet," he lied. Part of him wanted to believe that this charade wasn't really going to go on for three more days, and besides that, he didn't like the idea of this Jim knowing when he would be out of the house.

They entered, and Jim hurriedly grabbed something off the table by the door.

"Found it," he announced, leaning down for a peck on the cheek before Watson had the chance to avoid him. "Best be off."

"Good," came the muttered response the second the door shut. He stood still for a moment, scanning what was within sight.

He was fairly sure Jim had picked up the first thing he had spotted, if anything, and that wouldn't have been what he was willing to break in for. Did that mean he was only with Molly for some ulterior motive? If so, what?

"Time to find out," he decided. "Three days should be plenty."

* * *

**A/N: I don't really think Molly's insane... except maybe in this story, a little :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: 3 guesses... may spoil episode 3! You know, just in case you're here because you clicked the 'last chapter' button rather than starting at the beginning. I confess, I do it too :p**

* * *

Molly waited patiently while Sherlock studied the body, darting from side to side as he examined it from all angles. She already knew there was nothing to find, it was merely an accident; even Sherlock Holmes couldn't make a case where there wasn't one.

"It really does just look accidental," he announced dejectedly, finally looking up. "Why are you still standing over there?"

"Was just keeping out of the way," she lied, raising a hand to her mouth to let out a small cough. "And I think I'm getting a cold after last night."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're a doctor," the detective scoffed, "only idiots think it's that easy to catch a cold; it isn't about being in weather like last night's, it's about how long and whether or not you get yourself dry as soon as possible. You weren't that long and you changed the minute you got back."

"Yeah, you're right," she lowered her hand, mentally kicking herself. Of course Watson would know that. Of course _Sherlock _would know that. She knew it and she dealt with dead people; though it was nice to not be one of the idiots for a change.

"Why do you keep doing that? It's not like you." He was still staring at her, and the heat of her face told her what he was referring to.

He continued before she could come up with a response. "You've packed your pockets differently today too. You said you don't like your phone in your back pocket in case you accidentally pocket-call someone. And as a right-handed person, you wouldn't ordinarily have your keys in your left pocket… which you don't usually."

He took a few steps closer, looking at her intently. "What happened to you last night?"

* * *

While Molly seemed to have more possessions than he, none of them were anything a stranger would be interested in. She was as innocent as she appeared to be, the usual family pictures on the mantelpiece, drawers neatly filled with various correspondences and items, and trinkets lining the shelves.

It wasn't till he was back in the bedroom that an investigation of the lower drawer of the bedside cabinet uncovered a diary. A diary with so many mentions of Sherlock – once she stopped referring to him as "him" – that one might have wondered if it was her diary or his if it weren't for the pink ink.

He leafed through to find the last few pages, scanning until he spotted the name Jim.

_Met a great guy today. At the morgue of all places… of course, that's where I met Sherlock, but it's not the first place you think of when you think of romantic encounters. Aside from a rather strange opening comment about my nose – though he won't explain what's supposed to be wrong with it – he's wonderful. Seems really interested in me, said he joined the IT department a few weeks ago and has been noticing me. More than I can say for Sherlock._

Working at the hospital would explain why he had been planning to surprise her at work… though it didn't explain why he wasn't at work himself. His hasty exit proved that he hadn't really forgotten anything, but from what Watson had seen there was nothing he'd want to break in for.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," he decided, breaking away from staring out the window and standing up to grab his handbag.

He walked out the door, locking it behind him, and headed for the car while making a concerted effort not to look around. Climbing inside, he started the engine and pulled out.

* * *

She barely managed to mute her sigh of relief as Sherlock seemed to buy her lies and dropped the subject, turning back to the body and then looking around.

"I suppose that's the end of that then."

"We could go and get some lunch," Molly suggested, glancing at her watch. They might have left early, but between early morning London traffic and Sherlock's extended examination, it wasn't too early for an early lunch.

"You know I don't eat. Digestion slows me down."

"Well yes, but… we don't have a case. Slow you down while doing what?"

He fixed her with a look that made her wish she hadn't said anything and panic that she had just ruined things.

"You know me better than that. I don't sit around waiting unless I have to. Let's go and see if anyone's seen anything interesting."

With a swish of his long coat he was heading out the door, leaving Molly to follow behind as best she could as he stalked out of the building and looked for a taxi.

~sh~

Apparently "anyone" meant a variety of street urchins, performers, and homeless who he paid in return for their being his eyes on the street.

"Nothing. I hate this!" He scowled after he ran out of people, reaching for his phone to send off a text while simultaneously waving down a cab.

"Even Lestrade doesn't have anything," he muttered a few minutes later, staring out the window at the passing scenery. "Not a very exciting day for your blog."

* * *

Watson drove around the block, ditching the car the first chance he had, and doubled back to Molly's house, ducking behind one of the bushes lining the perimeter.

Sure enough, Jim was already back at the door doing what he had been caught doing not half an hour before.

Watson waited until he had disappeared inside before he crept up to the window, cautiously looking over the sill. Jim was searching the house in much the same fashion as he himself just had, and seemed to be having the same luck in finding what he was looking for, despite his advantage in actually knowing what he wanted.

* * *

Molly tried to stifle a sigh. She wasn't sure quite what she had expected, but just being in the apartment with him wasn't what she had wanted. Not that she could ever tire of watching him, but doing nothing was dull. Maybe a little of John was still in her, that part that needed the excitement of a case.

She jumped as a loud bang invaded her thoughts, realizing too late that she had let her attention slip and had missed Sherlock taking out his gun.

She watched in stunned horror as he continued to shoot at the wall, not stopping until he was satisfied a few moments later. As he lowered his arm, she couldn't help but giggle. The shots were in the shape of a smiley face.

"Okay, are you going to tell me now?" Done with his impromptu attack on the wall, his attention was back on her. "What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You didn't shave this morning. It took you twice as long to get ready, which you never do when there might be a case – you know how I hate to wait. Have you somehow lost the ability to dress yourself? Is that why you missed a button?"

_Actually, I missed it because I'm not used to shirts buttoning up on that side, _Molly thought to herself as she looked down to find out that she had indeed missed a button. And shaving… she knew there was something she had forgotten. And putting her belongings in the "wrong" pockets… she should have known Sherlock would notice a thing like that, she really hadn't done her homework before doing this.

"I spoke to the attending while we were there… had to, Molly wasn't around. Which in itself is strange, she's always there," he continued. "Anyway, he confirmed what I thought; there was no mud on his shoes, as there would be if he'd been on the plant grounds, and his clothes still smelt of alcohol – a drunk wouldn't have made it that distance. Which means he didn't die at the plant but outside the pub he was picked up from, and leaves me wondering what exactly you and Molly were doing at a now out-of-use plant in the middle of the night and why you're acting strangely now?"

For a moment nothing came to her but to stare at him. So many holes… of course he would have expected a body after hearing about the oddness of where the victim had been found. Of course no mud on the clothes would have indicated that he had been elsewhere, why had she thought any random body would work just because they died the right way?

"You and Molly aren't… is that why you sounded so strange on the phone with Sarah? Are you cheating on her, John?"

He was shaking his head before she could pretend to admit to the accusation.

"You wouldn't do that," he countered. "You're too loyal. If you weren't, you wouldn't still be hanging around me – you've pointed out my downfalls as a flatmate several times, I all but ruined your first date in years which was only saved by the understanding of that girl… and even though I call you an idiot just as many times as I do everyone else, you never take offence at it. You're too good of a friend to be a bad boyfriend."

Molly sat in silence, swallowing the lump in her throat. For a man who claimed to be married to his work, that was the most impassioned speech she had ever heard him make about another human being; or about anything, for that matter. He was a man of thoughts, someone who rattled off a hundred facts about a case at the drop of a hat, not a man of feelings and speeches.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she challenged, knowing the folly of her words when spoken to a bored Sherlock.

* * *

Watson awkwardly moved from his cramped position under the window to hide around the side of the house as Jim finally emerged, quickly hurrying back inside the second he had disappeared. Apparently the diary had more significance than he had given it, for the search had stopped as soon as it was found. But why?

He pulled the book out again, attempting to open it to the same page Jim had just been looking at. He spent a few minutes shifting pages, looking for something that could possibly be of any importance to anyone.

_Just started my new job today at the local hospital, working in the morgue. So far, the horror stories about London being a murder capital don't seem to be true… which is almost unfortunate when it's the murders that get the attention of the strangest man I've ever met. _

_Sherlock Holmes._

Anger at what she had done to him suddenly seemed to fade as his heart sank. Was Jim only showing an interest in Molly in order to get inside information on Sherlock?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So, sticking chapters together to make them longer means this is the last chapter, except for a short epilogue. The stats say people have at least been looking at it, so hopefully you've been enjoying it at least a little too :)**

**This is the most episode 3-specific chapter that'll hopefully also make it clear why the summary says this would be between the last two eps.**

* * *

"You switched bodies." Sherlock repeated slowly.

Molly nodded, trying to interpret the look he was giving her; it was more one of fascination than incredulousness, which she found didn't really surprise her. The flatness of his voice indicated that for one rare instance, he was momentarily stumped.

"Why?" he asked instead of the expected 'how.'

"I just…" she quickly realized she was blushing again. "A very strange way to get your attention?"

"I'm at the morgue all the time, why is it so difficult to talk to me? And this new boyfriend of yours can't be too great if you're still this interested in me."

She frowned, distracted. "How did you know I had a boyfriend?"

The detective sighed. "You changed a few things," he pointed out as if it was obvious. "You started wearing more make up, wearing more revealing clothes even though they were going to be hidden under your lab coat, putting your hair up… the list goes on. The question stays the same."

"Isn't there a more important question?"

"You have no interest in harming John, he's fine. And besides, he has your body, so you wouldn't want anything to happen to it. And you're not stupid enough to pull a stunt like this without knowing you could turn back. How long were you planning to keep it up?"

"Three days. There's another similar storm in three days."

"Can't it happen sooner?"

"I don't think so… but I can check."

"You do that."

She found herself wishing she had hair to hide her face behind as she turned away, reaching for the stray laptop that she had identified as Watson's.

"Are you crying?" Sherlock asked a few moments later.

"No."

"Look… it isn't you. I'm sure you're a great woman… as stupid as everyone else, but otherwise nice. But I'm just not interested in a relationship with women, I'm married to my work. I don't have time for girlfriends when there are so many more interesting things to be doing."

"Of course," the quiet voice just sounded ridiculous as a man.

She jumped as Sherlock plopped into the seat opposite her, fixing her with a stare.

"Of course, you can have my full attention if you feel like telling me what this experience has been like – a woman in a man's body, you just don't hear about that kind of thing in real life often enough."

Molly smiled. "There's another storm that might work this afternoon. But yes, that sounds like a good way to pass the time."

* * *

"Jim what?" the receptionist asked.

"I don't know," Watson answered, refraining from running a hand through his hair by quickly reminding himself that his fingers would probably get caught in it. "How many Jims are there?"

"Actually, none. Are you sure he works in IT?"

"Are there any others?"

She smirked after a few more seconds of typing. "Nope. Sorry," she offered with an insincere smile.

"Thanks," Watson muttered, turning away. Not only did this Jim not work at the hospital, but if his guess wasn't wrong, he was more interested in Sherlock than in Molly. There was no point in him being the only one knowing that information, he decided, heading for the exit. It was time to visit 221b Baker Street.

His phone rang as he approached the car, and he frowned as he pulled it out. The caller ID said Jim.

"_Looks like you're smarter than I gave you credit for," _his smarmy voice announced. _"Guess what you're not going to do now."_

"Tell Sherlock?"

"_Very good!"_ Jim responded, either not catching the sarcastic tone or choosing to ignore it. _"And before you get any cute ideas, I have a little motivation for you. Look down."_

Watson warily did as he was told, quickly scanning the perimeter as he did so, and his heart almost stopped. In the middle of his – or Molly's – chest was the small red dot of a sniper's gun.

"So all I have to do is not tell him?"

"_Pretty much. You wouldn't want your beloved Sherlock to get shot, now would you? I only want to play a little game with him… which means I need you to go to work tomorrow."_

"What kind of game?"

A click signalled that the conversation was over.

* * *

"Fascinating," Sherlock murmured when Molly had finally answered all his questions satisfactorily. "There's a reason I like to say I'm married to my work, you know. Puts off the pressure of everyone expecting me to be romantically involved – Watson included. Then again, people don't seem to be overly surprised when they hear I'm not… which I don't blame them for," he added quickly, spotting Molly's opened mouth. "But to switch bodies, risk your life just to spend a few days with me… and not even as some rookie detective looking for pointers, but someone with misguided interest… fascinating."

_At least he seems to find it interesting rather than hilariously stupid, _Molly consoled herself. The worst part was that nothing had changed; she knew very little more about him aside from his exhibitions of loyalty towards his new friend. His quick mind was already well known both to her and the public at large. That either meant this had been a failure or she had actually just discovered that there wasn't much more to see.

"So. We should call Watson, let him know you're switching back."

"Right," she jerked herself out of her thoughts and had the phone in her hand before she realized she didn't know the number.

Sherlock pushed a piece of paper towards her. "Need this?"

* * *

"Now what?" Watson muttered as the phone rang again, opting to answer it in the car rather than alight into the rain that had just started up again. A glance at the caller ID told him it wasn't Jim, but his own phone.

"Molly!" he hissed, wondering just what Jim's snipers would think of him answering the phone to himself if they could hear him.

"_I know, I'm sorry," _it sounded extremely odd, to say the least, to hear his own voice speaking to him. No stranger than hearing the wrong voice come out of his own mouth, he supposed. _"You have every right to be angry with me. Listen, I know the note I left you says three days, but there's been a change of plan – it's going to be in a couple of hours instead."_

"Why, being around Sherlock not as magical as you were expecting?" he wasn't sure which cruel part of him took satisfaction at that idea.

"_He found out, I ended up explaining things. He wants you back."_

There were two ways to take that sentence, and for some reason he liked the deeper meaning. Sherlock Holmes might have been the most obnoxious and testing person he had ever met, but the thought that he might have actually pierced some small part of that armour was pleasing.

"Okay. When and where?"

* * *

"You know," Sherlock had been quiet for most of the cab ride. "You have a boyfriend, and I'm not looking for a girlfriend… and this whole plan was rather crazy…. But it was genius crazy. You could have gone the boring route of stalking or something, but no… you actually work out the science to switch bodies with my flatmate. That's brilliant!"

"Uh… thanks," she knew she was blushing again, but this time she didn't care. A compliment from Sherlock Holmes? A 'brilliant,' no less? Maybe this experiment hadn't been such a failure.

"Are you going to wait here?"

"Of course not," he was halfway out of the taxi before she had finished the question, raising his voice to be heard over the now-heavy rain.

Another cab pulled up a couple of minutes later, and she didn't miss the amused smile on the detective's face as he looked first at her, then at his partner, and back again. He shook his head before he turned and led them towards the spot of the night before.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Watson asked.

"No reason why it shouldn't," the woman responded, glancing up at the sky. The storm wasn't quite as bad as she had been hoping for, but all they needed was one good lightning bolt that would hopefully belie the statistics of the chances of lightning striking the same spot twice.

"What are you looking for?" Sherlock asked, apparently having noticed his friend's attempts to see if the snipers were following him.

"Oh… nothing."

"Come over here," Molly encouraged, keeping an eye on her watch. "If my calculations are right, it should be any second now."

_~sh~_

If possible, Sherlock's face was brighter than his two companions had just been when they had been struck.

"So, did it work?" he demanded, so eager to know he was down on all fours on the ground beside them, impatiently waiting for one of them to wake up.

Watson was the first to stir, experimentally running a thorough examination of himself before answering with a grin. "It worked."

"Who knew it could feel so great to be a woman," Molly remarked as she sat up.

"Kindly keep your womanliness to yourself if it's so great, thanks," Watson teased, helping her to her feet. He sighed. "That was an… interesting day."

* * *

"There's something I need to talk to you about," Watson announced as soon as the men were through the flat door.

"You mean something more interesting than you being a woman for a few hours?"

"Sherlock, this is serious. It's about Molly's so called boyfriend, Jim."

"Ah, he has a name. Jim. How common."

"He's been lying to her. He told her he worked at the hospital, and he doesn't. He's been hanging around her trying to get information on you – he said he wants to play a game of some kind."

"A game?" That seemed to get his attention. "Why didn't you start with that?"

"Because I thought you might care about Molly possibly being in danger – no, of course you don't," he corrected himself. "Look, I don't know what he's up to, but he has snipers on Molly ready to shoot her and you if she tries to warn you about him. He's insane."

"On the contrary. He sounds like a wonderful cure to my boredom. I wonder what kind of game he means, I do hope it's interesting… snipers are always good. Good job you're such a crack shot yourself."

"Sherlock!"


	7. Epilogue

**A/N: Epilogue time! As you can see, I wasn't kidding when I said short... :D ****Thanks to the people who reviewed, and to the people who decided to keep quiet but still made the stats look nice and impressive :) **

**I admit I don't consider it my best work :( ... but I'm glad some people enjoyed it anyway. I needed to cure my writers block, and the fact that I haven't posted in a long time... and my current Sherlock obsession. I didn't even like Sherlock Holmes before this show! **

* * *

_John Watson's blog [setting: private]_

Well, that was an… interesting day. Never would have expected anything like that from quiet little Molly… who knew Sherlock frustrated people that much. She did seem happy when they showed up at the plant this afternoon though, something good must have happened. Can't imagine what.

At least something useful came of it, discovering this Jim bloke. I may not have had time to find out what he was up to – and now I'm me again, it'd probably be harder to try and find out – but at least we know he's out there, interested.

And wait for this game to start. While I'm as big a fan of Sherlock not being bored as Sherlock is, I'm not sure this is exactly what I wanted. This madman already has snipers on us, what is his actual plan going to involve?

Unfortunately I know better than to try and go to Lestrade behind his back, he'll just find out – or Lestrade will do something stupid like try to have someone watch us, which would work all of five seconds. Which means keeping an eye on Sherlock myself and making sure he doesn't do anything too reckless. As if I stand a chance of stopping him. That's a laugh.

* * *

Molly Hooper's diary

_So that didn't last quite as long as I planned, but it was a little more boring than I was expecting. Only because there wasn't a case, I expect, Sherlock Holmes hardly strikes me as a boring person._

_Best part of the experience? He called me brilliant! He noticed me long enough to listen and find out that he thought I was brilliant! He also called me insane, but sure, switching bodies with someone and putting us both at physical risk wasn't the wisest thing ever to have been done._

_I'm not sure I'm sad that we've changed back though. All my questions on what it's like to be a man have been answered – except for that one, of course – and I'm not sure I care much for it. I could also do with fewer body parts in the kitchen and exploding microwaves._

_I also realized I missed Jim. I should call him and see if he wants to come round. He's great too… not that he'll ever be as great. He's a little condescending._

_Why is it that Sherlock and Watson are always out of milk?_

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think? Stay far away from attempting to write more, or could be better with more editing and another watching to fix the errors? :p **


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